Free Caterpillar Without A Callsign by Isaac Hooke Page B

extras the military deemed fit to equip me with. I couldn't hold back a surge of jealousy whenever I saw that callsign floating above his ATLAS though. We were good friends, but when I joined the platoon and found out he'd been assigned to a mech, relations had been strained between us.
    There was another mech in the squad, piloted by a dude known as "Bomb." He brought up the rear, acting as our drag man. I hated him too. Well, figuratively speaking of course. I loved Lui and Bomb like brothers, just not right at that moment...
    The rest of my teammates and I wore strength-enhancing jumpsuits that also served as body armor, though the units were pretty useless against the armor-piercing heat the insurgents liked to pack. Those jumpsuits also had jetpacks strapped on the back, which might come in handy if one of us fell. We wore ordinary helmets, no facemasks or rebreathers or anything like that: The mountain range wasn't that high. I should note that Lui and Bomb wore the same jumpsuits as everyone else while operating the mechs.
    We were passing a wide valley on my right. A distant river meandered between the rocks, with pine trees lining either shore all the way to the horizon. There was a slight mist hanging in the air, blurring out the farthest end of the valley. The whole scene looked like a painting. Very peaceful. Very calming.
    That was the thing about this country. Intermingled with all the ugliness of war you'd find places like this just full of beauty.
    Fret t ook a long sip from his thermos. "You know what the problem with Mongolia is?"
    I glanced at him. "Other than the war?"
    "Yeah."
    I rubbed my chin. "Well, the fact that it's a zillion miles away from civilization might have something to do with it. Get these guys a proper education and we wouldn't have problems like this."
    "Typical Democrat answer," Fret said. "But completely wrong. There are colonies in space way farther away than this place, full of uneducated dim nuts, and they're bastions of peace."
    I shrugged. "Fine. "
    We walked in silence for a few paces. Fret took another sip from his thermos.
    "Well, ask me," Fret said.
    "Ask you what?"
    Fret offered me the thermos. "What the problem with Mongolia is."
    I sighed, taking the thermos, and asked.
    Fret grinned widely. "Can't get a decent cup of coffee anywhere."
    " I thought you made your own coffee?"
    "Hell no , Midget. Where am I going to get access to an espresso machine? As for this swill, I got it from the robots at Dunkin' Bucks."
    "Ah." Dunkin' Bucks was one of the flagship chains the military had spent big money to open at the base. The other was Tennessee Fried Bacon. My favorite.
    "See, the root cause of all the malaise in this cou ntry is actually quite easy to track down," Fret continued. "I mean come on, what else is going to eat away at the very heart and soul of a place? Make better coffee and you make a whole bunch of people a whole lot happier. You end the malaise, the political discontent. Make better coffee, and you change the world. The foundations of every great democracy were built on great coffee. Mark my words, caterpillar, the moment this country starts making better coffee, everything else will get a whole lot better." He nodded at the thermos. "I left you some, by the way."
    "No thanks. I'm not a coffee drinker."
    "What? After everything I just said, and you're not a coffee drinker. We'll have to remedy that. Go ahead. Drink it."
    I reluctantly opened the thermos. I grimaced at the smell, kind of a mix between two acrid flavors: burnt mint and crushed cockroach. The green color definitely made it look like swill.
    "I was never a big fan of espresso," I said, swirling the contents around.
    Fret laughed. "That's not an espresso. It's a grasshopper mocha. With some dip thrown in for good measure."
    "Oh." Man, I really hated dipping tobacco.
    I raised the thermos to my lips, trying to figure out how I could avoid drinking the terrible concoction— Just then s omeone shoved past